A/N : So, not too much of Dean in this chapter but hey, there's suffering Sam!
And a huge thank you to Shannanigans for your wonderful idea. It begins in this chapter and continues onto the next one. I hope you'll like it ;)
Thank you also to all those who have read, liked, followed and reviewed my story. Y'all are spectacu-lacular! 3
Don't forget to review this chapter. Mwah!
Sam was burning.
Alive.
Strangely, it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would.
But maybe that was because he was distracted at the sight of mom and dad and Jess and Dean - oh God, Dean - burning alive next to him. Screaming and pleading and begging at a Sam who couldn't move. Paralysed by heat and immobilized by cold.
Wait, cold?
One blink later he was burning alone.
Because the others had di - no, they had escaped. Yes, that was it. He wouldn't let himself wallow in the fact that none of them had escaped. They had all burnt. Burnt for him, burnt because of him and burnt despite his efforts.
He had failed and they had left him to burn alone. Just like he deserved.
But he had to get out.
Because …
Because he had promised. Promised whom? Promised what?
He didn't know or he didn't remember. He didn't remember if he knew.
Out. OUT!
He shifted, the ground tilting dangerously, his eyes opening to intact leather and low ceilings.
It was going to come down on him.
And suddenly the leather was nothing but the charred remains of what was once home. The sun was the fire gathering speed and driving pokers through his eyes and at his jello brains.
OutoutoutoutOUT!
He fumbled forward, half sitting, half holding on tightly to the wavering, drowning ship.
Ship?
The ship on fire, going down and under the arctic waves, the coldness lapping at him, weaving nauseous threads of hot and cold and cold and hot.
Jump ship. Needed to get out.
A little wedge that fit his shaking fingers and he grabbed it, trying to heave his body up and overboard.
A click. Then the fire was upon him, a cold rush of air making him flinch and groan.
Out.
He had to fight through it. Walk through fire. It was the least he could do. He owed him (who?) that much, at least.
He slid forward, sweat slicked hands squeaking on leather, shivers running up and down every part of his body.
His feet dropped down and into the ground. Or maybe it was the ladder that fell into the sea. It didn't matter. He had to get out.
Maybe he tried too hard or maybe his limbs had given up, but the next second, he felt himself falling.
He gasped, trying to hold onto something and then his breath was knocked out from him as he impacted painfully against solid ground. And it hurt.
Gravel dug into his palms and he came precariously close to face planting on it.
Out.
He had to get out.
But wasn't he already out?
And yet he still burned.
An inescapable heat. A fire that followed him in his dreams and his waking moments. Destiny and all that crap.
He was born to be burned.
He collapsed against a solid surface, struggling not to keel over, every fiber in his body screaming at him to give up. To let the heat consume him. Ashes in the wind.
But he wouldn't.
He had promised. Promised what? Promised whom?
He could feel the blackness threatening the edge of his vision, breath coming in short gasps through the smoke and fire curling in and around him.
And suddenly there were hands. Or maybe it was just a trick of the wind.
His face was cradled by it.
Hands, then.
The palms were gentle, warmth engulfing him, noticeable even against the sheer heat that surrounded everything.
There was a voice. Or voices. Or sounds in his head. What, he didn't know. Maybe the voice should feel familiar. Maybe it was familiar. Maybe that was why escaping the grasp had never even crossed his mind.
A breath choked in his throat and Sam coughed. One following the other until he thought he could feel his lungs being ripped into shreds, the force of it making his eyes water.
Or maybe that was the smoke.
There was a hand at his back, moving in a strange pattern, but Sam breathed easier because of that. How did that happen?
There was the voice again. Maybe it had never stopped. It rose and fell in volume, silk and gravel mixed into one.
He lifted his head with herculean effort, searching for answers. A glance should be enough. It had to be.
All that met his gaze was a blurred figure. Nothing made sense.
That was the last thought that flitted through his mind, fire and ice billowing at him, before everything collapsed within his body and brain and he fell into abyss.
When he came to again, it was to darkness. Except for two glowing orbs of fire on either side of the … bed?
The heat had abated a bit but it was still there. There was something cool on his forehead, neck, chest, underarms, legs - they were actually covering almost every part of his body. Even … even down there, Sam realized. And he would have blushed if he had the strength to.
But then again, why would he be embarrassed? He was alone.
And suddenly, all Sam wanted was to be embarrassed. For someone to see him, to be there to laugh at him … a certain someone who would tease him mercilessly or take care of a fever or shrug off compliments or look out for him like no one could.
The one and only.
Tears stung his eyes and Sam turned his face half into the pillow, dislodging the cloth from his forehead. He frowned, focusing on his memories to remember when he had done so much to take care of himself. He tried to remember the last time when he had granted himself a break.
He didn't deserve a break.
He mentally shrugged and pushed away the cloth at his neck, before trying to sit up.
"Hey, hey, whoa! Where do you think you're going?"
To say Sam started was putting it mildly. He nearly upended onto the floor, he had flinched so hard, but warm hands caught him and laid him back. He snapped his eyes shut as his head slumped on the pillow, neck arching a bit as he tried to breath through pain.
There was a palm on his forehead, gently rubbing circles and squeezing the back of his neck before moving to lay comfortingly on his chest.
He kept his eyes closed, breathing through the thrumming that had picked up pace inside his brain.
Sam hadn't even noticed that he had had a headache to begin with.
There was a voice above him, fading in and out of the sound of his heart pounding away in his ears. He wanted to concentrate on it, but the pain took away all his remaining coherence. He pressed the heel of his palm hard against his forehead, as if he could physically push the agony away.
Finally, the ache receded a little and when he felt like his head wasn't about to burst, he opened his eyes slowly, the ceiling of a motel room coming into focus.
But Sam didn't care about the water stains on a dirty ceiling. Because his vision was occupied by something else.
Namely, Dean.
For a fraction of a moment, his heart jumped, hope blooming. Hope. The wicked elixir that had left him drowning afterwards.
Once he would have held on to that elixir.
Now, Sam just squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again. He steeled himself and met his brother's eyes, working hard not to turn away.
He was just so goddamn tired.
The green eyes were filled with love, worry, sadness and concern, a look that Sam was familiar with.
Which made it all the more worse.
When Sam's eyes met his', Dean broke into a relieved grin, like he had been waiting for just that moment. Like he had known that Sam just needed time to get things in order as they collided with walls in his noggin'.
But then again, no one knew Sam like Dean did. Not even Sam.
Sam smiled back.
A/N : Kind of an abrupt ending, I know. Sorry, sorry. But next chapter coming up soon. Review, my darlings 3
